Harry Potter, the Balefire Angel
by Jackmage
Summary: a Final Battle one shot. Its a lot better than it sounds.


Harry Potter, the Balefire Angel.

AN: Well here's a little one shot for you. The idea just hit me on Tuesday and it's been bothering me ever since. Please note, it's rather au but then if you ask me DH was rather au too. (Honestly, it read like a badly written fanfic.)

The final battle.

Strange how it all came down to just this, after so many years, just a few hundred people in cloaks gathered to decide the fate of the world.

The battle lines had been drawn, light and dark barely a hundred feet apart.

The location, a non-descript field far from the eyes of muggles.

Rain was beating down, drenching the combatants to the bone and miring them down in the thick mud.

The light was losing.

Voldemort had finally found the ultimate weapon.

A force, ancient and dark, evoked by wand and will.

Balefire.

Compared to this, the Avada Kedavera was nothing, for Balefire did not simply destroy life.

It destroyed EVERYTHING.

Magic, flesh, bone, life love and soul.

All these were completely obliterated by it foul touch.

Yet they fought on.

Led by an old man and a mere boy of sixteen, the people Britain stood firm... And were massacred.

Killed one by one, until only a few remained, until only a few remained, clinging to dying hope.

Dumbledore knew this.

There was only one thing left that could save them.

But at what price?

Salvation at the cost of a life.

But that life was not his to give.

Biting back bitter tears and feeling his heart breaking, he turned to the boy-no, man he'd watched over for sixteen long years.

'Harry, it's time. There is no other choice.' Tears were flowing now.

Betraying no hint of the fear that gripped his heart like an icy vice, Harry simply nodded.

Turning to his friends, standing around him like a guard of honor, his soft voice spoke only one word.

'Goodbye.'

His eyes swept over them, one by one, lingering on the bushy haired brunette that had always been his greatest friend.

Turning from them at last the chosen one briefly locked gazes with his headmaster before walking grimly towards the approximate midpoint between the warring factions.

He knew.

He'd always known, deep in his heart of hearts.

There was no prophecy.

No secret power the darklord knows not.

There was only choice.

And _this_ was HIS choice.

To die so that others might live, to give up his hopes and dreams to ensure that others had a chance to attain theirs.

The choice was difficult and yet not so. Giving up ones' life was no small thing, but then what was one life compared to hundreds of others?

Not a single spell was fired. This was a matter of honor.

Voldemort glided forward.

They met amongst the mud and grass of that seemingly insignificant field, and bowed.

No words were spoken, none were needed.

Whipping his wand forward Harry screamed the words of his most powerful spell,

'REDUCTO TOTALUM!'

A beam of blindingly bright blue light roared forth, leaving a gaping trench across the muddy ground in its wake.

The spell struck Voldemort dead on.

Exploding into a titanic nimbus as the powerful energies Harry had called forth sought to earth themselves.

For the first time in months Harry felt a faint sense of hope.

At last the light faded.

There stood the darklord, his robes tattered and smoking but otherwise unharmed.

Harry felt his wand drop to his side.

It was over.

He'd given his best.

There was no stronger spell he could cast. If that couldn't even scratch him, there was no point in continuing the duel.

Sadly shaking his head Harry said,

'Go on then, we both knew it would come to this.'

'Yes, Harry. It's been a long time coming. Farewell.'

With a strange look gracing his snakelike features, half of triumph half...regret, the darklord almost whispered the spell to end his longtime nemesis.

'AIMUM OBLITERATE'

The green light came, a thousand times brighter and more malicious than the paltry killing curse.

Harry stared on, determined to meet his end in a manner befitting of Godric Gryffindor himself.

Strange, he noted, it's nearly the same color as my eyes... In fact it's _exactly _ the same...

And then the light struck.

'Hermione...' the last word escaped his lips.

There was a disbelieving gasp from both sides a moment later.

When balefire struck it left nothing but ash.

It had struck Harry with deadly accuracy, but of ash there was no sign. Nor in fact was any sign of the boy dying.

The light had changed.

From a mere bolt of magic, it turned into a massive inferno of roaring emerald flame.

The flame leapt and spat, wreathing Harry's slumped form in what seemed to be a cloak of magical fire.

Harry knew that he should be dead.

He knew he should be seeing a bright light of some sort.

He definitely knew that he should not have been seeing the incredulous faces of Voldemort and his death-eaters staring at him.

Then it hit him.

Pain. Excruciating pain. Beyond anything the cruciatus could do.

It seemed that someone had poured molten lead into his bones, whilst pricking every inch of his skin with burning needles.

With the pain came a feeling of... Pressure.

Building pressure.

It built until it totally eclipsed the pain.

He had to release it.

Instinctively he trained his wand on the darklord.

Desperately Harry felt himself shaking.

Calling spell after spell he tried to get the awful pressure to expend itself on destroying Voldemort.

Nothing happened.

Whatever this force was, it had completely overridden his own magic.

Harry felt hot blood trickling from his ears, and felt something that he suspected was not a tear running down his cheek.

Realizing that, trying to command whatever this was, was completely pointless Harry took the only other option.

He gave in.

The cloak of flames unfurled.

Now Voldemort knew fear.

Before him stood an angel, dressed in a ragged robe, raven hair flying wildly about its thin face streaked with a single bloody tear.

And then there were the wings.

Great, mighty wings, all made up of leaping green fire.

An angel of balefire.

Falling to his knees he called out in surrender.

But what he had evoked in this boy did not allow for mercy.

Walking forward the angel stood before the cowering darklord.

'Its time Tom.'

'No! You cannot have me! I am immortal!'

'No Tom, just a man. Nothing more.'

And with that the angel, who had been no more than a boy moments ago, bent down and gently took the seemingly paralized darklord into his arms.

Straightening up, the angel smiled beatifically at the assembled people.

The wings folded down gently, ever so slowly growing brighter by the second.

At last the wings closed.

The flash was blinding, the roar deafening.

Then, there was no more.

An empty space in the middle of a muddy field, with people standing all around it.

Albus Dumbledore fell to his knees and wept.

'I'm so sorry Harry.'

AN: There you go. Hope you like!

Ps. I love reviews!


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